Julia’s Kitchen (10 page)

nine

All day Wednesday and Thursday, instead of thinking about the fire or my fight with Marlee, I thought about baking. I liked knowing I had this big exciting secret that not even Marlee knew about.

On Thursday Mr. Temby ran out of library passes, so I had to go outside for recess. I took an extra long time putting on my jacket, hat, and gloves. I wanted to be the last one out so I could scan the playground and choose the right group to join. I spotted Marlee at the four-square court with some other kids from our class. The fifth-grade girls were playing tetherball, and the boys were making a snow fort on the field. A bunch of younger girls were having some kind of talent show by the jungle gym. And some boys were playing basketball. That's where Janie would be if she were here—playing basketball with the boys. I saw Justin grab a rebound, and I headed over to watch.

Most of the boys had unzipped their coats and clearly would have taken them off altogether if the recess monitors weren't watching. But I was freezing just standing there. I tucked my chin and mouth inside my jacket and felt my breath warm me.

Someone made a basket, and Justin took the ball out of bounds right near me. “Hey, Cara!” he said. “Wanna play?”

I shook my head. “No thanks. Too cold.”

“Oh, come on! It'll warm you up.”

But I shook my head again. Playing basketball was Janie's thing. “I'll cheer you on.”

“Works for me.” Justin twirled the basketball on his finger. “I gotta get used to cheerleaders anyhow for when I'm in the NBA!”

“Come on, Justin,” another boy shouted. “Let's go.”

Justin threw the ball in, and I watched as he called all the shots, hogged the ball, and scored most of the baskets. He seemed so fine, as if his life had returned to normal, his life without Janie. I was happy for him, but I was also mad. Shouldn't he be miserable without her? Marlee wouldn't think so. She'd probably wish I'd take a lesson from Justin.

When the bell rang to end recess, Justin asked me if I would come to his basketball game on Saturday night. His team was playing in the championship.

I wanted to say no, but the thought of spending Saturday night at home with Dad was enough to make me forgive Justin for being happy. “Okay,” I said. “I'll be there.”

As soon as school let out, I headed to Snyder's.

“Hello there, Miss Cara,” Mr. Snyder said as I came in through the bell-jangling door.

I waved hello and set about finding the items on my shopping list. They had everything I needed except for a basket. They even had a starter cake-decorating set that I could use for the name cookies. Luckily, Bubbe had supplied all the other kitchenware I'd need.

At the checkout counter, Mr. Snyder carefully placed my groceries in a paper sack. “Looks like someone's going to be doing some baking,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “At least, I'm going to try.”

“Well, like I always say, successful baking comes from the heart. You have to love what you're baking to bring it to life.” Mr. Snyder smiled and handed me my groceries.

I thanked him and headed home, hoping he was right and that a little love would bring Mom's cookies to life.

In the apartment, I set up shop. I decided to store all the ingredients in the cabinet above the refrigerator because Dad never went into that one.

I got Mom's recipe for chocolate-chip cookies, took a deep breath, and turned the oven dial to 350. All at once I felt my whole body tingle. I knew it seemed crazy, but I felt as if Mom were there with me in the kitchen. No, not just in the kitchen, but inside of me, helping me along.

As I started to soften the butter and sift the flour, I realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I had helped Mom make these cookies so many times, I didn't even have to check the recipe. I did, though, because I liked looking at Mom's handwriting and thinking of her carefully writing out these instructions. It was as if she had written a personal letter to me.

“In a medium-sized bowl, sift together the 2½ cups flour with the 1 teaspoon baking soda and 1 teaspoon salt.” I remembered Mom explaining the need to sift and not simply scoop or pour. Sifting added air to the flour, and even though you couldn't see it, you needed it there to measure the flour properly.

“… Beat together the sugars with the softened butter until creamy.” Mom had taught me exactly how soft the butter needed to be. If it was too hard, it didn't blend well; too soft, the cookies came out flat. She said to think of the butter as my heart. “Keep it soft to let love in, but don't let it go to mush.”

“Add the 2 teaspoons vanilla extract and the 2 eggs…” I opened the bottle of vanilla and breathed in the delicious smell that reminded me so much of Mom. I dabbed a bit on my wrist. Had Mom done that, too? Was that why she'd always smelled so good?

“Add the dry ingredients and combine until just blended.” Timing was everything here. You couldn't over-mix the dough at this point, or the cookies would be too heavy. I watched carefully and turned the Mixmaster off as soon as the flour disappeared.

After stirring in the chocolate chips, I dropped the spoonfuls of cookie dough evenly on the cookie sheets. I kept the oven light on and watched as the cookie dough spread, then rose, then turned a perfect shade of golden brown. Why I had ever doubted myself? I was a great baker. Mom had told me so dozens of times.

As the cookies cooled on wire racks, I considered biting into one. They looked so perfect and warm and, oh, they smelled so good. Whenever I baked with Mom, I wanted to eat the cookies the minute they came out of the oven, but Mom always said, “Not yet, Cara. It's too soon.”

But after the cookies had cooled, I knew I couldn't eat even one. Instead, I placed them in a Ziploc bag and hid them behind a box of Popsicles in the freezer. I opened the windows in the apartment. It was cold, but I needed to get rid of the smell before Dad got home.

While I washed the dishes, I thought about the baby Julia just starting her life. I wished I could cast a spell to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to her or her family, but I knew that was impossible. Life was filled with good and bad, joy and sorrow. That's the world God created. I had a feeling, though, that God was rooting for the good, same as I was.

*   *   *

On Friday after school I baked the snickerdoodles and the oatmeal cookies, and figured out the bus route I'd have to take to deliver the basket.

According to the lady on the phone at the bus company, I could pick up the number 4 bus three blocks from my apartment. One transfer and forty-five minutes later, I should be two blocks away from Renee's daughter's house. Yikes! I'd never taken a bus by myself before. What if something went wrong? What if I got lost? Or the bus ran out of gas? Or we crashed? Or I missed my transfer? What if it rained, and the cookies got soaked? Stop, stop, stop, I told myself. I would not worry my life away. Worrying didn't help. Now it felt like wasted energy. Besides, even if everything went wrong, I'd find a way to deliver the cookies.

Hey! Maybe that's what God did. Maybe he helped you figure stuff out for yourself. Even when things got crazy. That made a whole lot more sense to me than a God who swooped in like a superhero every time I sent him a worrying message.

*   *   *

Saturday night, the Wittenbergs took me to Justin's game. I didn't know if it was because of the baking, or my new thoughts about God, or the sound of squeaking sneakers on the gymnasium floor, but I felt so light, so free. I whistled and clapped and screamed from the sideline. Just like before. I almost wished Marlee could see me.

The next day was February 29, Leap Year Day. As I got dressed for Sunday school, I thought about how this was a bonus day, given to us only once every four years. It seemed like a day made for something special. Maybe a day to talk to Marlee.

I realized I'd been waiting and waiting for Marlee to apologize to me, but the truth was, it wasn't all her fault. I owed her an apology, too. She'd never acted the way my dad did, and I shouldn't have compared them. I knew it wasn't fair for me to burden her with my sadness all the time. I sure didn't like Dad's doing it to me.

I decided to make Marlee a card using my scrapbook supplies. I folded a piece of yellow paper in half, and I cut two big circles out of pink and blue paper. I glued the blue circle to the front of the card and drew a frowny face on it. Then I wrote “I'm blue without you!” Inside, I glued the pink circle onto an accordion-folded strip of paper so it would pop out when Marlee opened the card. I drew a smiley face on the circle and wrote “I'd be tickled pink if we could make up! I'm sorry, Marlee. Love, Cara.”

At Sunday school, I tucked the card inside Marlee's Hebrew book when she took a bathroom break. As soon as she came back, she looked at the card, then looked over at me and smiled. She scribbled on the back of the card and held it up to me.

“I'm sorry, too. Friends?”

I wrote, “Absolutely,” on my notebook, and showed it to her. We both sighed huge sighs. It sure took a lot of energy to fight with your best friend.

After Sunday school, when we were waiting in the car pool line, I told Marlee I had a big secret.

“What?” she asked.

“Promise you won't tell anyone? Not even Max?”

“Of course, of course! What is it?”

“I've been impersonating my mother.”

Marlee squinted at me. “Huh?”

So I explained everything, and she listened with wide eyes and a huge smile.

“So,” I said, “the only thing left to do is make the name cookies, buy a basket, and deliver it all … tomorrow. Are you in?”

“Ha! What kind of question is that? You bet I'm in! I can't believe I was out for a whole week!”

Marlee put her arm around me, and my dad pulled up. We had the giggles the whole ride home.

ten

The reason we didn't have school on Monday was that it was Pulaski Day. Casimir Pulaski was a Polish general who'd fought in the American Revolution, and we got the day off in his honor. But what I wanted to celebrate was my mom's birthday. Weird. She wasn't going to turn forty-three. I wasn't going to make her a present or bring her breakfast in bed.

Before getting out of bed, I looked at her picture.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I hope Janie takes good care of you today.

I decided to call Bubbe and Zayde right after breakfast. Bubbe answered, but as soon as she heard my voice she had Zayde pick up an extension.

“Oh, Cara, it's so good to talk to you today,” Bubbe said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she'd been crying.

“Are you okay, Bubbe?” I asked.

“This is a hard day for all of us,” Zayde said gently.

“I know,” I agreed.

“Are you and Dad doing anything special today?” Bubbe asked. “Maybe dinner at Mom's favorite restaurant or something?”

“Well, we hadn't talked about it, really,” I said. “But it's a good idea. I'll suggest it to Dad.”

“Oh, good, love. You do that. It makes me feel better knowing we're all thinking of your mom today, and celebrating her life. You know?”

“Yes, Bubbe, I know.”

What I really knew was that I wouldn't suggest going out for dinner. Because Dad wouldn't get home until way past dinnertime.

I hung up the phone feeling sad. Sad for Bubbe and Zayde. Sad for me. But mostly sad for Mom.

Marlee came over, and I tucked my sadness away. It wasn't hard because we started baking, and making sure Marlee didn't mess anything up as we followed the tea cookie recipe took all my attention. Before too long, the cookies were cooling on the counter. Even with Marlee sharing the work, I felt Mom's presence. I just knew she was there.

Finally, the time had come to write “Julia” on the cookies. I knew exactly what to do. I filled the frosting squirter with pink buttercream frosting.

“You try,” I said to Marlee, sliding it across the counter.

Marlee gingerly picked up the frosting squirter. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I need your help.”

She started in on the first cookie, sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated. In perfect print letters, she spelled out J-U-L-I-A. Then she smiled. “There.”

I examined the cookie. “It's good,” I admitted. “But my mom always wrote the names in cursive, not print.”

“So?”

“So, you printed.”

“So?”

“So, it's not the same.” Sometimes Marlee could be so dense.

“But what difference does it make? This looks good. Who cares if it's not exactly the way your mom did it? They're
your
cookies now.”

My cookies? I turned that thought over in my head. “You think?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe they're
our
cookies. After all, I
am
the one with the nice handwriting.”

I laughed. I let Marlee finish decorating the rest of the tea cookies. Then we ran to Walgreens to get a basket, some cellophane, and tissue paper, which I paid for with saved-up allowance. My cookies. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the sound of it.

On our way back to the apartment, I collected the mail. There was a package. For me! I looked at the return address and saw it was from Roz.

“What do you think it is?” Marlee asked.

The small brown package was medium weight and about the size of a CD case. “I have no idea.”

We rushed upstairs and opened it. Inside was a silver bracelet with the words “Life is a journey, not a destination!” engraved on the top and “Enjoy the moments!” underneath. I'd seen Roz wear it before.

“Cool!” Marlee said.

There was a note:

Dear Cara,

In honor of your mom's birthday, I'm sending you this bracelet. You may remember I have one just like it. Your mom gave it to me when I first moved out to L.A., and it has inspired me many times over the years. You're on your own journey now, a journey you never planned, but still, your own unique path. Enjoy the moments!